


El Constructor

by dexterously



Series: El futuro (funciona) [1]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexterously/pseuds/dexterously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva squeezes him briefly with an arm over his shoulder, with a show of good sportsmanship, and it's right there— he fucking knew it was something to be worried about; when they step back and Villa's own smile falters a little as he catches Silva’s face again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	El Constructor

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _Yo no te esperaba_   
>  _Te doy la bienvenida_   
>  _En esta casa no hay oscuridad_   
>  _Porque viniste tú_   
>  _Con tu luz_   
>  _Y tus herramientas._   
> 

Villa scores the goal that leads his team into the quarter-finals of the Champions League, a beautiful header right away from Xavi’s corner. They keep touching his head, thanking for his thick skull, and he laughs and laughs and laughs, and afterwards, after the celebration is done and the team gets his draw, he receives a text from Silva. Manchester City is also in the quarter-finals now, so they could maybe play against each other, in the semis— a thought that troubles him less than the first time, since they had play before, in the CL, too. He settles for reading the text calming. It says: "At least you did a good use to that empty head of yours! Congrats." And Villa feels something yawning inside of him, stretching and broadening in the underside of his skin, this sinking impression of something being out of place, but he can't put a name to it, so he swallows it up anyway.

These days, he doesn’t talk as much as he’s used to with Silva, but less talking doesn’t equate to less friendship.

He’s right, though. He knew it was something important, and well, he can't remember the last time he was wrong about something, and this isn't the exception. They do get to play against Manchester City, and up close Silva looks _really_ good, with clean cleats, his kit hanging tightly in his shoulders and loosely across his stomach, his stance open, ready to play. He hugs him out of habit, thinks that however this match ends, they can (should) be friends nevertheless, as always. Silva squeezes him briefly with an arm over his shoulder, with a show of good sportsmanship, and it's right there— he fucking knew it was something to be worried about; when they step back and Villa's own smile falters a little as he catches Silva’s face again. Silva arches an eyebrow but Villa can’t bring himself to pronounce anything, so only smiles tightly and wishes him luck, passes to the next player.

Through the match, Villa fights for a lot of things- Fights for the ball, fights against the nervousness of maybe losing after being this far, fights against the burn in his legs, fights to concentrate. Fights against the part of him that seeks for Silva across the pitch, the part that stays back and wishes for him to feed Silva the ball, the part that wants to look back after he does a sprint, the part that looks out to see if he hasn't being injured or carded. The part that- that-

He stands wholly to take a free kick in the 83', with several parts of him disagreeing. He takes the one that matters most, the one that commits in behalf of his team, and guides the ball into the back of the net, passing the wall of players and pushing through the near grasp of Hart. He doesn't celebrate the goal, though, and his teammates claps him in the back, hugs him, and he smiles softly, but doesn't do his own personal ritual.

Villa has never apologized for a goal, has never apologized for winning, his mother didn't taught him to be that way (but these days she’s not around enough to see his son never apologizing, almost fucking up things every time because his pride was a mile wide). He gets close to that by ducking his head when Silva catches him staring, but Silva lift ups the right side of his mouth in an awry kind of way.

After the match, with a 0 – 1 win in the first leg under Villa's right arm, and Silva's jersey under his left one (they trade shirts, hug just like the start, with Silva's head lingering a little in the side of his neck this time, and Villa taking the smallest of opportunities to thread his fingers in Silvas's hair, just once) he almost misses Cesc trying to talk to him since they stepped out of the pitch, being Villa so concentrate on analyzing the overwhelming insight. It's like loosening a knot of nameless thoughts that had put a weight in the back of his mind from time to time, and now that they are revealed, they're mocking at him, stating the obvious, relishing the meaning of the facts, and Villa had never been this clueless before, this thoroughly blind, if not deliberately, but not this moment.

It feels like a light flickering and finally exposing what he has been missing while he stand shadowed by everything else, not knowing his own place in the haze of the vague certainty. It's not suddenly, but it's surprising, in the kind of surprises that you find yourself being subtly aware of, but catching up the fully thing after. He tells this to absolutely no one, and begs to God not to let him wind this up, prays to the heavens not to fuck it up, because he gets the feeling that it's bigger than him. And he was right, something was out of place, but now it clicked into the right one.

That's how Villa realizes he's in love with Silva.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a... pre-work of "El amor es grave (y el amor hastía)"? must be. I'm fairly certain. 
> 
> Anyway, another short work modified from an original one, un-beta'ed. Set in a hiphotetical season where Barcelona, Villa in the squad, has to face off Manchester City in a CL semi finals (needless to say, and with some maths applied to it, it must be an distorted 2010/11 season or the 2012/13).


End file.
